


Ripe

by fifthnorthumberland



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Consensual Sex, Consent is Sexy, Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, Female Homosexuality, Femslash, Femslash February, Fingering, Genderbending, Kitchen Sex, Lesbian Irene, Lesbian Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Vaginal Fingering, fruits as metaphor for sex, lesbian Joan, sherlock femslash, use of the word cunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fifthnorthumberland/pseuds/fifthnorthumberland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's turned on by watching Joan cut a mango. Counter sex happens. </p><p>"Sherlock watches – transfixed - as Joan’s deft fingers extract piece after piece of juicy yellow flesh. Juice Sherlock knows to be sweet and tasty drips from the fruit onto Joan’s fingers, hands and forearms and Sherlock can’t help from licking her lips. She imagines how fresh and delicious the fruit would taste on Joan’s skin. She suddenly wants more than anything for Joan to feed her a piece of mango. For Joan to come to her with her sticky, fruity hands and to slip a piece into Sherlock’s mouth. She’s surprised to hear herself moan at the thought. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripe

**Author's Note:**

> If the use of the word cunt squeaks you out, you can peace out right about now as it's one of my favourite words :)

With this week’s run to the grocery store, Joan had brought back a mango. They normally didn’t indulge in the purchase of exotic fruits such as this, but Joan had been able to give more hours to the clinic and Sherlock had solved a few quite lucrative cases recently, so they could afford small luxuries. Sherlock didn’t care for those, unless they were extra beakers or cigarettes, but Joan had taken to buying things simply because she fancied them.

Sherlock watches from behind her microscope as Joan unloads the couple of bags she’d carried to the kitchen and put everything away save for the red fruit. Joan takes out a knife from a drawer and the cutting board from behind the microwave and settles them down on the counter as she starts telling Sherlock about an incident that occurred while she was out.

“So, listen to this Sherlock, I was at Tesco, in the dairy section when this bloke came up to me, mid-thirties, and he tells me...”

And Sherlock is only half listening because even though she can usually do multiple things at once, she is now incapable of anything except staring at Joan palming the mango and pressing delicately against the skin to test its ripeness. Sherlock watches attentively as Joan then uses the knife to cut the mango in halves, juice running down the knife’s blade. She then takes one half of the fruit and cut a grid into the yellow flesh. As she’s talking about things that Sherlock doesn’t register, Joan plops over the half-fruit and small pieces stand over the curved skin, inside out. Then, Sherlock watches – transfixed - as Joan’s deft fingers extract piece after piece of juicy yellow flesh. Juice Sherlock knows to be sweet and tasty drips from the fruit onto Joan’s fingers, hands and forearms and Sherlock can’t help from licking her lips. She imagines how fresh and delicious the fruit would taste on Joan’s skin. She suddenly wants more than anything for Joan to feed her a piece of mango. For Joan to come to her with her sticky, fruity hands and to slip a piece into Sherlock’s mouth. She’s surprised to hear herself moan at the thought.

Joan notices the noise and stops cutting the second half to turn to Sherlock, whose throat is suddenly very dry. She clears her throat as Joan’s expression turns inquisitive.

“I, uh, you’re covered in mango juice.”

She manages to say. Blush rising; she looks down into her microscope.

“You were saying?” she prompts Joan to continue with her story.

The look Joan gives her over her shoulder is incredulous, but she’s quick to get back to the story and to the fruit.

“So, um, yes, as I was saying...”

And Sherlock still can’t focus on Joan’s story, can’t even focus on what’s under her microscope’s lens because _damn it_ , she’s not looking, but Joan is still cutting the second half of that mango and her fingers are still shiny, covered with sweet juice that must begin to be sticky. Sherlock can almost taste the sweet-tangy fruit on her tongue. Then, her resolve, however small it was, collapses.

She gets to her feet and walks around the kitchen table to the counter where Joan is standing, still telling a story Sherlock’s not listening to and holding half of a fruit in her hands.

“Sherlock, are you even listening to what I’m saying?” Joan stops to say.

“Mmmh hm” Sherlock hums in response, focus elsewhere.

Sherlock’s standing just beside Joan, backside sitting against the counter, staring at Joan’s hands and forearms, slick with juice. It’s positively obscene. And _so_ tempting. She hesitates for a second before sliding closer, hip to hip with Joan and leaning over to bite a piece of mango and suck it into her mouth. She moans around her bite and savours the flavour of the fresh fruit, eyes closed and throat bared. Then she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and sees Joan’s shocked expression; a wide eyed and open mouthed stare that’s fixed at Sherlock’s mouth.

Joan clears her throat and says “Um, that, uh, if you wanted a piece, you could have asked, Sherlock.” Her voice is rasped and she swallows around the end. Sherlock grins predatorily, knowing she’d won something here.

“Then,” she says while leaning closer to Joan’s face, “may I? Have a piece?”

Joan looks unsure for a moment as she holds Sherlock’s gaze before putting down the knife and digging into the fruit flesh with her fingers to find a piece to offer up to Sherlock’s mouth, inches from hers. Sherlock’s tongue reaches for the sweet yellow flesh and pulls it between her lips. She bites around it and juice fills her mouth. She moans delightfully and licks her lips clean, slowly, sensuously. Joan’s stare hasn’t left her mouth and she’s biting her own lip. Sherlock wants to bite those lips. Wants to suck the bottom one into her mouth and lick it.

“Another.” commands Sherlock.

This time, when Joan takes the piece and offers it to Sherlock’s lips, Sherlock opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue out. Joan places the fruit into Sherlock’s mouth, her fingers brushing Sherlock’s lips and tongue. She bites her lip and lets out a loud exhale through her nose. Sherlock smiles devilishly, mouth full. _Oh, yes,_ she thinks, _this will be good_.

“Thank you.” she says, still smiling.

Joan nods and clears her throat, looking down at the fruit in her hand. There is a moment of tense silence where Sherlock can feel the air move around them on the hairs of her bare forearms. She wants and wants and she’s not sure if Joan wants her too, she won’t dare to be able to know her friend’s every thought.

Feeling emboldened, Sherlock takes the fruit from Joan’s hand and sets it down on the cutting board. She takes confused Joan’s hand and holds it delicately to her mouth, looks her in the eyes inquisitively for a moment. Joan nods lightly, still in shock, and that’s all the permission Sherlock needs before slipping one of Joan’s fingers into her mouth.

On her tongue, the taste of sweet-tangy fruit is strong and explosive, but soon she tastes as much as she feels Joan’s skin. She moans, delightedly pleased at her tongue on Joan’s skin, finally. Joan gasps. Sherlock licks the finger completely clean and lets it go, looking Joan in the eyes. Her irises swallow the clear blue in her eyes and Sherlock knows she’s just uncovered something precious and dangerous. She takes another finger into her mouth, sucks it clean, laving it carefully with her tongue, and does the same with the next. She keeps her eyes closed; Joan’s stare beginning to be too much. When she saw Joan’s hands covered with juice, she felt ambers ignite in her groin and stomach, but now, with her mouth full of Joan’s fingers and the sweet taste of mango, it’s flickering flames and heat, burn, _want_. She feels herself wetter as the arousal grows with Joan’s increasing responses, signs that she does _want_ this, that she wants, too.

A shiver of want courses through her and she feels her heart beat loudly and quickly in her chest as she dares a broad lick across Joan’s open palm.

Joan moans. It stops Sherlock’s heart for a moment and she looks up to Joan, eyes unsure. Joan’s breathing harshly and her bottom lip’s bitten a ripe red.

“Can I-,” Sherlock begins. “Yeah.” Joan answers.

Without thinking much further, Sherlock kisses her. Their lips crush and teeth cluck in the open-mouthed kiss, but it quickly becomes tender and sweet. Tongues find one another and both women moan into the kiss. Joan’s body curves around Sherlock’s and presses her to the counter, one hand coming up to her waist. Sherlock’s hands cup Joan’s face and neck. Their lips brush and press and nip and hold and their teeth bite and nibble and their tongues lick and wet and trace and taste. Breathing becomes ragged and they break the kiss, both painting.

With their foreheads still touching, they breathe the same air and Joan smiles a toothy smile, which Sherlock can’t stop from replicating before crushing their lips together again. They kiss some more, breathless and giddy, dizzy with arousal, and Sherlock’s hips press against Joan’s. Soon, Joan’s hand finds its way between their body, between Sherlock’s thighs, and Sherlock’s hands find their way into Joan’s short hair. They moan simultaneously as Joan presses her fingers and palm against Sherlock’s hot cunt. Sherlock grips at Joan’s short hair and pants on her cheek, the pressure on her clit sending shivers all over. She gasps as Joan’s middle finger presses up under her and her palm grinds against the front of her. She involuntarily grinds her hips into the offered hand, her thighs pressed to Joan’s, warmth seeping through layers of trousers and pants.   

Sherlock feels overwhelmed with sensation and she clings to Joan’s shoulders and back as Joan rubs her clit slowly, roughly. She feels herself get wetter and wetter as Joan sucks a bruise to her throat. Sherlock whimpers at the pressure lost when Joan takes her hand away and pulls back to undo Sherlock’s trousers. Sherlock shimmies out of them and Joan’s hands quickly find her ass, raising her onto the counter. Sherlock’s legs wrap around Joan’s hips, pressing her closer.

Joan looks at her, really looks at Sherlock, stomach to breasts to collarbone to throat to her face, and her expression is tender as well as wanting. She kisses Sherlock, hands on her hips, before pulling back and asking

“Is this okay? I mean, do you want to?”

Sherlock’s surprised by the question, but answers the only thing that comes to mind;

“Yes, anything, Joan, anything. Please.” and it comes out as a breath more than words, mind racing to the possibilities of _anything,_ but she’s understood. Joan’s hand traces from her hip to her belly, her fingertips light as they brush over the fine hairs below her navel, trace along it to the coarser hairs of her pubis. Sherlock trembles with want, pushes her hips forward and Joan huffs out a breathy chuckle.

“Yeah, okay, yes.” she says to Sherlock before slipping her hand under Sherlock’s underwear. “ Just so you know, next time we’re doing this, I intend on at least getting you to take off your shirt”

She threads her fingers through hair and finds Sherlock’s folds and her middle finger slipping between them, pressing lightly on her clit.

Sherlock feels a rush of heat inside of her cunt and lets out a breath, head falling backwards. Joan’s finger circles and rubs at the skin just above her swollen clitoris and it’s the same sweet aching pleasure Sherlock feels when she does this to herself, only this is _Joan_ and it is so much better. She moans and Joan presses harder on her clit, making Sherlock’s cunt throb. As if she knew exactly what this was doing to Sherlock, Joan’s index joins her middle finger and surrounds Sherlock’s clit, pressing around it, as her other hand found Sherlock’s breast and nipple beneath her shirt. She pinches Sherlock’s clit and nipple simultaneously and Sherlock yelps. Joan’s fingers become soothing as she grins a crooked smile and she massages both clit and nipple tenderly for a moment before slipping her fingers along Sherlock’s cunt. She rubs up and down for a moment, pressure so good she has Sherlock keening, and then easily pushes two fingers inside Sherlock.

Sherlock inhales shakily and clenches around Joan’s fingers. She feels a pressure inside as Joan crooks her fingers, searching for that sweet spot that could get Sherlock going pretty quickly when she found it herself.

“Deeper” Sherlock helpfully suggests in a breathed out moan.

“Okay” Joan breathes back.

She presses slightly deeper and crooks her fingers again and that’s almost it. Sherlock adjusts herself on the counter and presses her hips up and that- that is definitely it.

“Oh. Oh God. That- right there, _oh_.” Sherlock whines.

Joan’s fingers start pressing up and then releasing the pressure in an easy rhythm, pulling out and pushing back in gently as she leans in to kiss Sherlock’s clavicle. Her kisses trail down to Sherlock’s covered breast and she sucks Sherlock’s nipple into her mouth.

“Oh fuck” Sherlock moans.

“Please, oh Christ, Joan!” she stutters as Joan doubles her efforts fucking her fingers into Sherlock. Sherlock feels pleasure curl down her spine into her groin and shivers at the bite around her nipple. She feels every thrust of Joan’s fingers bringing her closer to coming, on the edge, but it’s still not enough, still wanting.

“Joan, please, more” she says between pants. And Joan groans as she pulls back from sucking her nipple, her hand pulling out of Sherlock. Sherlock pants out and feels her cunt clutch at nothing, moans at the absence. Joan, though, quickly reinserts her fingers inside Sherlock along with a third one. Joan finds that sweet spot inside Sherlock again and crooks her fingers, pressing into it. The stretch of three fingers inside her is almost all it takes to make Sherlock come. She gets her own hand to her clit and rubs rough circles and she’s so tight, so ready to come, so near the edge. She gasps, open-mouthed and leaning heavily on Joan’s shoulder, coming. Her cunt’s clenching onto Joan’s fingers and throbbing through her aftershocks. She is nearly trembling, little spasms shaking her thighs, as Joan takes her fingers out of her.

Sherlock takes a moment to gather herself, one little shaky breath at a time, before opening her eyes again. What she sees stops her heart once more; Joan bringing the three fingers that were inside Sherlock, now wet with her, to her own mouth, and _sucking_. She groans around them, sounding beyond pleased, _satisfied._

Sherlock sits on the counter, legs fallen to each side of Joan’s body, and she just breathes for a minute. Joan’s left hand caresses her naked thigh while her right’s pulling strands of curly hair out of Sherlock’s face. She looks at Sherlock with such tenderness, it catches her by surprise.

“Well, I hadn’t done anything like that since university.” Sherlock says, a certain hint of glee sneaking its way into her voice.

Joan chuckles at that, a sound that warms Sherlock’s chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever done something like that. God, you’re amazing, Sherlock.” and she sounds truly awed.

“If you hadn’t a habit of praising me, I’d say you were exaggerating, I’m not the amazing one here.” Sherlock says, earning herself a shy smile and blush from Joan.

“In fact, I practically did nothing.” she adds, tone low and sensual, “Is there anything I can do for you?” she continues, her hands sliding from Joan’s hands on her thighs to her waist. Joan looks up, cheeky smile growing on her thin lips, and says “I have a few ideas.”

“Oh, do you?” Sherlock teases.

Joan nods, grabbing Sherlock hands and pulling her off the countertop.

“You might want to put away your microscope because one of those ideas involves you eating me out while I lay on this table.” Joan replies, teasing and smiling.

Sherlock gets to her feet and steps out of the clothes pooling at her ankles, making for the table behind Joan.

“Let’s clear this up right now.” she says, grabbing slides and dishes and putting them out of the way.

This is proving to be getting more interesting than any of those, anyway.


End file.
